Enzymicide
by Alex Smithee
Summary: Something's wrong with Wendy : Features OC cannon fodder survivors, rated T for some disturbing-ness.


A/N: I know the Spitter design changed...but I always liked the sheer twisted-ness of the original. I also think this still needs a lot of work, I just wanted to put it up and try and get a bit of feedback to see if I was even on the right path. And all designs © Valve

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The flickering light danced off the ring on Wendy's hand as she ran it loving her large belly, caressing the precious cargo within it. The baby was late, and to her growing concern, had not moved much in a long time. While her heart burned at the grim possibilities plaguing her mind, part of her knew the baby would be truly blessed if it never saw the light of day. At least, not the light of the kind of days the world was going through right now.

There were only four of them left now. It was almost impossible to think back to when they had all set out, seventeen strong, deciding to make the journey to New Orleans in hopes the military were still running evacuations. But things had gone bad, very bad, and now it was only her, Leighton, Rupert, and Jeff. Leighton was taking stock of what little ammunition they had left, silent, as he had been ever since a Hunter had torn Betty's throat out. Rupert was sitting near the door, an axe clutched firmly against his bandaged chest, starring without seeing into the darkness just beyond the bars. Jeff sat near her, occasionally glancing at her and her stomach nervously. All of them however, were listening. Listening to the dull, continuous pounding of the dead against the thick steel door.

Wendy shivered slightly in the cold, her face sickly pale, her body jerking occasionally, her cheeks slightly puffed out. Jeff reached out a sympathetic hand out and rubbed her back while she shook. He didn't know much about this kind of thing, but he figured the poor girl was just having a bit of morning sickness. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth and shut her eyes, sweat rolling down her forehead in an effort to keep down whatever was fighting it's way up her throat.

The bucking of her shoulders intensified for a moment and she doubled over. With a bone-chilling retch, she vomited. At least, that's what they'd been anticipating her to do. As the retching and violent bucking of her body continued, Rupert became more and more reminded of a cat trying to cough up a hair ball. After a few painful seconds, Wendy finally managed to cough something up. Jeff's eyes snapped wide open in fear and he pushed himself away from her, staggering back to his feet to join the other survivors who likewise were suddenly putting quite a lot of distance between themselves and Wendy.

She had coughed up what appeared to be a loosely formed ball of slime which broke and spread over the floor when it landed, hissing and eating away at the wood. The growing pool bubbled and steamed as it burned into the floor, noxious fumes drifting lazily up from it. With a shuddering breath, Wendy slowly righted herself, and they could see the strings of goo dangling from her mouth, glowing a translucent green in the dark safehouse. Leighton, whose attention to detail had never failed him before, found himself wishing it had then.

He noticed the consistency of the substance. While every other time they had encountered it fighting their way through the hoards, it had been smooth. This time, there appeared to be pieces in it, bits of rotten flesh no doubt from the poor child in her womb slowly being consumed by the acid now coursing through her system. She looked up at the terrified survivors, her mouth raw and red, the thin line of luminous saliva dripping down her chin, burning her flesh as it went. Her eyes were slightly sunken and, though far less human than they had been just a moment before, were looking to each of them pleadingly.

With her head turned to them, they could see the gauze on her lower neck, covering where she had been bitten. The flesh around it was spotted and discolored as if bruised. Her veins ran deep purple and green with tainted blood, pressed up against her thin, pale skin. It's not to say the rest of them weren't covered in wounds and bites as well, but they were immune to the infection. Wendy, it would appear, was not.

"I didn't want to make a fuss," she whispered hoarsely.


End file.
